


Street Jack

by SteampunkCow



Category: Homestuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 05:23:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteampunkCow/pseuds/SteampunkCow





	Street Jack

Chapter 1: Intro

"There are four types of people on the streets just like there are four favorite candies in the dingy Sweets Cafe that are always sold out at the end of the day. And always that one half-eaten twix bar left on the counter, that somebody decided differently that they didn't like caramel three bites in. Occasionally there might even be a bag of cotton candy stomped into the pavement right outside the entrance, or some wacky flavored licorice in a glass canister in a corner- it's only company a too sour apple lollipop. Maybe a bottle of cherry soda that nobody was brave enough to try or it was just too damned expensive to include its price along with all the other chocolate, vanilla, lemon, and cinnamon flavored goodies being bought. Granted, the several brightly wrapped fruit candies might give company while they lay scattered on the shelves: the major lone items in the contrasting bittersweet shoppe are almost always left there after the wooden doors shut out the dim light from the streets of Harlem."  
There's a pause in the subdued tenor as the speaker breaks to take a deep drag from the rolled reefer that he held between two calloused fingers. His audience fakes a gag that resonates through the ratchet phone he had been rambling dazedly into for the past hour of his habitual high, a voice similar to his own but unburdened from narcotic abuse rings out- chastising him despite his actions being unseen from the other end of the line.  
"you have got to be kidding me? you're lecturing me with some whacked out forsaken euphemism while you're doping. you have officially fallen to a new low bro. like omg you're getting worse with every minuscule shift of a neuron in your brain."  
The stoner chuckles, inhaling again from the soporific roll before rebutting his brother. "Come on, don't tell me all of my admonition has spread eagle-d over and past your suburbanite head. That'd would've been quite the jump Dave, probably the gold medalist of the get-over-the-skinny-motherfucker-games. Celebrations abound and you're clueless as ever on the ways of street life." He doesn't have to wait long for an abrasive reply in the audio, however it's surprisingly not as colorful as he would've hoped.  
"jesus christ dirk just how baked are you? no wait, just why the fuck are you practically crispy in the same use of that nether metaphor?"  
"I have my own reasons as well as a lawyer. I don't need to answer any of your question unless you got some proof." Dirk's reply to the irked demands of his twin were aimed to only exacerbate him further; because honestly, he thought it was pretty goddamn entertaining to mess around with people when they were infuriated with him. Just goes to show how many fucks Dirk gives. AKA none really. Especially when he's up in the clouds with a lil bit of weeds in his mental garden.  
Dave huffs into his cellphone. "ugh, quit being such a defensive pussy and tell me why you're whopping your brain cells to a pulp." Why was his brother such an incorrigible douchemuffin?! No matter how hard he tried, Dave suspected that he would never truly grasp how the hell it's even possible that Dirk leads his own fucking gang without driving all of NYC into the ground with magic mushrooms or pot-filled smut puppets, or just fucking something.  
Without a reply, the seemingly bromidic gangster snaps his phone shut- effectively killing their brotherly conversation as he falls back into the dangerous aromatic swell of his high.


End file.
